Sequel: Battling the Loss You Live For. ›
Status: completed; sequel 'Battling the Loss You Live For' is now running.
Smiles Echo In My Memory
Everything
Frank’s Point Of View
The drive home was held in awkward silence, the atmosphere tense. I know she felt it too, but I needed it to clear my head, to figure out what the hell I was gonna say. I’d never ever told anyone about my past. About why I came here, why my Mom went to London occasionally, why I used to be slightly reserved.
“Frank-”
“No.”
She started to fidget in her seat, messing about with the strap of her overnight bag she went to go and pick up after I asked her to stay over. I felt so bad for being so cold and blunt towards her, but I couldn’t help it. I know she was hurt, and it made me feel like such a dick-face for being a cold hearted wanker. I sighed and pulled over, parking the car in the driveway.
“Sazzy, I’m sorry,” I said, switching off the engine and turning in my seat to look at her. She just kept her head down, looking at her hands that were folded onto her lap.
“Sazzy, please, I-”
“Its okay, Frank,” she said, before undoing her seatbelt and getting out of the car in one swift movement. I sighed, before unbuckling myself and following her out, locking the car quickly. She was waiting at the front door, her eyes still fixated on the floor. I opened up the front door, and she rushed up to my bedroom as usual while I went to get us a diet coke. I didn’t mess about cleaning up like I usually did, and went upstairs. Sazzy was sitting on the bed against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped loosely around them. I sighed, placing the glass on my nightstand and sitting next to her.
“…Sazzy?”
“Frank?” she replied, letting go of her legs and sat up, sitting cross-legged. I sighed, realizing that it was now or never.
“I’m sorry I was such a dick head earlier, I just-”
“Its okay, Frankie, don’t worry about it,” she replied, giving me a weak smile. I pulled her into a hug. She was the best friend I could ever ask her. “Sazzy, I need to tell you everything,” I whispered into her hair, stroking her long black locks. She nodded into my chest.
“I’m ready for everything,” she mumbled, pulling away slightly, so our arms were still wrapped around each other. I took a deep breath, readying myself.
“When I was about 11, my Mom started going out with a guy. His name was Kevin. He started living with us when I turned 12, and he was okay, not that bad, just… Kevin. Things were normal, I liked stuff the way it was, and I was just about to go into grade eight. I started getting bullied, shoved into lockers, that kinda thing. I suppose I kinda got over it, I was the different kid, the one with a step-dad, the one that was… un-cool. I didn’t mind.
Then I started doubting myself. That’s what I hated most. I kept asking myself why I was un-cool. I thought I was fat. That’s when I started getting anorexic.”
I looked at Sazzy, to see her eyes full of pity and worry. I took a deep breath, knowing I had to get it all out, and now.
“That was probably the worst time of my life. My Mom used to cry all the time, and beg me to eat. I’d never eat anything like pizza or fries, and used to live off black coffee. I’d then realized I had a problem, and eventually started to get help. That was two years ago.
After I’d finally started to recover, that’s when Kevin… He…” I stopped, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I-”
“Frank? It’s okay, hun,” Sazzy whispered, urging me on. I smiled weakly at her, squeezing her hand.
“He started to drink, get drunk, and beat me up. He’d accuse me for my Mom’s depression, blamed me because my Mom cried because I was anorexic. He’d pummel me. That’s when I started smoking, and occasionally smoke pot. I stopped the pot after about six months, because I hated the look in my Mom’s eyes… It was like the look you’re giving me right now, and it hurt. I hated it.
…Anyways. One night, Kevin came back not just drunk, but high. Cocaine or something, I’m not sure. He beat me up like usual, giving me black eyes, a broken fist, and a scar…” I pulled away from Sazzy, and lifted my tee up, revealing my scar. The scar I hated so much. It was a thick, large gash that was opposite my heart, on my chest. Sazzy gasped in shock, a hand flying up to her mouth. “Oh my god, Frank… He… Oh, god,” she muttered, reaching out and touching it lightly with her fingertips. She pulled back quickly, as if it was going to hurt me.
“It needed 26 stitches. They thought I was gonna die, I lost a fuck load of blood,” I explained, pulling down my yellow tee. She watched my every move carefully, like I was fragile, going to break at any second.
“Frank, he… How could he?” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me again, burying her head in the crook of my neck.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back, my arms wrapped loosely around her, one hand resting in her hair. She looked up at me, her eyes full of tears ready to fall. Her face close to mine, I leaned forward slightly, our noses almost touching. Her eyes were half closed, and her breath hitting me on the face.
“Frank…” she whispered, her eyes closing fully.
I leaned forward just that little bit more, my lips brushing against hers.
The drive home was held in awkward silence, the atmosphere tense. I know she felt it too, but I needed it to clear my head, to figure out what the hell I was gonna say. I’d never ever told anyone about my past. About why I came here, why my Mom went to London occasionally, why I used to be slightly reserved.
“Frank-”
“No.”
She started to fidget in her seat, messing about with the strap of her overnight bag she went to go and pick up after I asked her to stay over. I felt so bad for being so cold and blunt towards her, but I couldn’t help it. I know she was hurt, and it made me feel like such a dick-face for being a cold hearted wanker. I sighed and pulled over, parking the car in the driveway.
“Sazzy, I’m sorry,” I said, switching off the engine and turning in my seat to look at her. She just kept her head down, looking at her hands that were folded onto her lap.
“Sazzy, please, I-”
“Its okay, Frank,” she said, before undoing her seatbelt and getting out of the car in one swift movement. I sighed, before unbuckling myself and following her out, locking the car quickly. She was waiting at the front door, her eyes still fixated on the floor. I opened up the front door, and she rushed up to my bedroom as usual while I went to get us a diet coke. I didn’t mess about cleaning up like I usually did, and went upstairs. Sazzy was sitting on the bed against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped loosely around them. I sighed, placing the glass on my nightstand and sitting next to her.
“…Sazzy?”
“Frank?” she replied, letting go of her legs and sat up, sitting cross-legged. I sighed, realizing that it was now or never.
“I’m sorry I was such a dick head earlier, I just-”
“Its okay, Frankie, don’t worry about it,” she replied, giving me a weak smile. I pulled her into a hug. She was the best friend I could ever ask her. “Sazzy, I need to tell you everything,” I whispered into her hair, stroking her long black locks. She nodded into my chest.
“I’m ready for everything,” she mumbled, pulling away slightly, so our arms were still wrapped around each other. I took a deep breath, readying myself.
“When I was about 11, my Mom started going out with a guy. His name was Kevin. He started living with us when I turned 12, and he was okay, not that bad, just… Kevin. Things were normal, I liked stuff the way it was, and I was just about to go into grade eight. I started getting bullied, shoved into lockers, that kinda thing. I suppose I kinda got over it, I was the different kid, the one with a step-dad, the one that was… un-cool. I didn’t mind.
Then I started doubting myself. That’s what I hated most. I kept asking myself why I was un-cool. I thought I was fat. That’s when I started getting anorexic.”
I looked at Sazzy, to see her eyes full of pity and worry. I took a deep breath, knowing I had to get it all out, and now.
“That was probably the worst time of my life. My Mom used to cry all the time, and beg me to eat. I’d never eat anything like pizza or fries, and used to live off black coffee. I’d then realized I had a problem, and eventually started to get help. That was two years ago.
After I’d finally started to recover, that’s when Kevin… He…” I stopped, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I-”
“Frank? It’s okay, hun,” Sazzy whispered, urging me on. I smiled weakly at her, squeezing her hand.
“He started to drink, get drunk, and beat me up. He’d accuse me for my Mom’s depression, blamed me because my Mom cried because I was anorexic. He’d pummel me. That’s when I started smoking, and occasionally smoke pot. I stopped the pot after about six months, because I hated the look in my Mom’s eyes… It was like the look you’re giving me right now, and it hurt. I hated it.
…Anyways. One night, Kevin came back not just drunk, but high. Cocaine or something, I’m not sure. He beat me up like usual, giving me black eyes, a broken fist, and a scar…” I pulled away from Sazzy, and lifted my tee up, revealing my scar. The scar I hated so much. It was a thick, large gash that was opposite my heart, on my chest. Sazzy gasped in shock, a hand flying up to her mouth. “Oh my god, Frank… He… Oh, god,” she muttered, reaching out and touching it lightly with her fingertips. She pulled back quickly, as if it was going to hurt me.
“It needed 26 stitches. They thought I was gonna die, I lost a fuck load of blood,” I explained, pulling down my yellow tee. She watched my every move carefully, like I was fragile, going to break at any second.
“Frank, he… How could he?” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me again, burying her head in the crook of my neck.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back, my arms wrapped loosely around her, one hand resting in her hair. She looked up at me, her eyes full of tears ready to fall. Her face close to mine, I leaned forward slightly, our noses almost touching. Her eyes were half closed, and her breath hitting me on the face.
“Frank…” she whispered, her eyes closing fully.
I leaned forward just that little bit more, my lips brushing against hers.